


there are rhymes and there are reasons

by brahe



Series: the heart that holds it [2]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Angst, Blind Kanan Jarrus, Gen, Post-Malachor, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, ezra gets a haircut, ignoring your problems won't fix them ezra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 17:39:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13416276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brahe/pseuds/brahe
Summary: He looks in the mirror, at his hair that's gotten too long, gone without a brush in several days, and he thinks, maybe, this will help.Or,The story behind the season 3 haircut.





	there are rhymes and there are reasons

**Author's Note:**

> so I wrote 1200 words about a haircut. everything's fine.
> 
> (im not gonna lie, part of me was tempted to call this "take a look at himself a make a change" but I have a little self control)
> 
> title (instead) from gavin's song by marc broussard

He wasn't sleeping, so calling it waking up isn't entirety accurate - he hasn't slept right since before Malachor, since before he trusted the wrong person and ruined more than just his own life. Quietly, he drops from his bunk and makes his way to the 'fresher. It's going to be a long day, _again_ , and he's starting to wonder how much of this he can take and stay sane; the Sith whisper at him whether or not he's conscious, and Kanan hasn't even _looked_  - 

No, Kanan _hasn't_ looked, and isn't that the problem. Ezra hunches in on himself a little more at that. Kanan hasn't stayed in the same room as him for more than thirty seconds since they got off the _Phantom_ , and Ezra wants to be angry about it, sad, even, but he _can't_ , can't blame Kanan for hating him over something so permanent, so life changing.

He catches his reflection in the mirror with a wince. He looks wrecked, to put it lightly. The bags under his eyes are deep and dark, halfway to looking more like black eyes - they're stark against the parlor of his skin, paler than he's ever seen it, sick and pasty. His hair is a tangled mess, hanging in his face and almost down to his shoulders.

He stands there, loses track of how long, and stares at the person he's become, who's let down the one person that means the most to him, who's got blood on his hands and something far worse, too, who's looking like death warmed over and not particularly motivated to do anything about it. It's not a way a Jedi would live, he knows, can even imagine Kanan saying it, but Kanan can't see him, won't ever see him again, even, so what does it matter?

He hates the thought as soon as he has it, and maybe that's the final push, because he storms out of the 'fresher and straight for Sabine's room. He knocks once.

A moment later, the door _whooshes_ open. She looks up, surprised. "Oh, hey, Ezra."

He sits down on the floor beside her, mindful of the paints she was strewn about. "You look like shit," she tells him. "What's up?"

"I want you to cut my hair," he blurts, which isn't exactly what he meant to open with, but there's hardly room for other thoughts in his head at the moment, and it's why he's here. 

"You what?" It's obviously not what Sabine had been expecting him to say, and he's got her full attention now, paint spray abandoned on the desk as she sits down in front of him.

"I want you to cut my hair," Ezra repeats. Sabine nods slowly.

"Yeah, okay. Needs a trim?"

Ezra shakes his head. "No, I mean cut it. I want it short."

Sabine crosses her arms and looks at him for a long time. He can't really hide anything from her like this, too tired to really want to, anyway.

"Okay. Right now?" she asks, and Ezra's nodding before she's finished.

"As soon as you can," he says, and she stands up, motions for him to do the same.

"Sit in the chair," she instructs, picks up some of the paint and moves it, grabbing a pair of sleek scissors in the process.

She puts a cloth around his shoulders, a torn, ratty thing with stains eight different colors that smells like paint and smooths her hands over his hair.

"Why the change?" she asks, and he doesn't answer her until she's started cutting, soft sounds of the scissors the only noise in the room for a while.

"Time for something new," he says, half-shrugs to avoid jostling his head too much. "Never really had it short before."

Sabine hums and continues working in silence. He's glad she agreed, and that she hasn't asked him too many questions - he's not sure what he could bring himself to explain, anyway.

She finishes the back, turns the chair around to work on his bangs, and he carefully brings his hands up to feel the new length. It's much shorter, not long enough to run his fingers through anymore, but it's not enough.

"Shorter," he says, by way of asking, and he kind of regrets it immediately after when Sabine stops her movement and meets his gaze.

"Ezra," she says, accusing and questioning all in one, and he doesn't really last long under the look she's giving him.

"It's just - hard," he explains. "I don't really know how to say it. I just - every time I look in the mirror, I think about what happened. It's dumb, I know, but I can't - I can't stop seeing the person who got Ahsoka killed and Kanan blinded and I hate it."

He's a little proud of how steady his voice sounds, the emotions he's feeling tumultuous and twisting just under the surface. 

"I get it," Sabine says, and Ezra opens his mouth to tell her that she doesn't, really, but she beats him to it. "I started dying my hair after I left the Academy," she tells him. "Looking at my hair just reminded me of my mom and my dad, and eventually I couldn't stand it. I already felt horrible enough, and that was something I could change, something I could control."

She returns to cutting his hair, and he can't help feeling guilty at how quickly he'd been sure that she didn't know - of course she does.

"Thank you," he tells her, and she's not done yet, but it's not really for the haircut.

"You're not as alone in this as you think you are," she says. "Nobody blames you, least of all Kanan."

"You don't know that."

"Sure I do." She puts the scissors down, ruffles around in a drawer underneath the desk and returns with a razor. "You're like a son to him. Haven't you realized that?"

"That doesn't mean he doesn't hate me."

Sabine sighs, shakes her head. "Look, Ezra. The only person who blames you is you. Once you get over that, you'll see what I mean."

They don't say anything after that - Sabine trims his hair, electric razor a soft buzzing that echos just a little off the metal walls, until she sets it down and leans against the desk. He reaches up, runs his hands over the soft-rough feeling close-cropped hair. He wonders how much of a difference it'll make when he looks in the mirror - it's a start, he thinks.

"Thanks," he says, and this time he is only talking about the haircut. When he looks at Sabine, she's watching him with something closed-off and calculating.

"Sure," she says, and Ezra thinks she's going to keep talking, repeat what she said about forgiving himself, about Kanan and the rest of the crew, but she says nothing, just keeps looking at him.

"If that's all you needed?" she eventually does say, eyebrow arched at him, and Ezra gets himself out of her seat, heads to the door. He's glad she didn't try to talk to him more, he thinks, didn't try to convince him that everything's going to work out fine if he just gets over himself, deals with how he's feeling.

The door closes behind him and he stands in the silent hallway, alone. _Right_? 

**Author's Note:**

> rebels has ruined me honestly. this is getting a second part with kanan and ezra talking about the haircut.


End file.
